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Thee Jervas hails, robust and debonair,

Now have [we] conquer'd Homer, friends, he cries: Dartneuf, grave joker, joyous Ford is there,


And wond'ring Maine, so fat with laughing eyes (Gay, Maine, and Cheney, boon companions dear, Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of size), Yea, Dennis, Gildon (hearing thou hast riches), 135 And honest, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches.


O Wanley, whence com'st thou with shorten'd hair, And visage from thy shelves with dust besprent? "Forsooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there, For ancients to compyle is myne entente:



dulity. Sir Godfrey had drawn for Pope the statues of Apollo, Venus, and Hercules. Pope paid for them with the following


"What god, what genius, did the pencil move,

When Kneller painted these!

"Twas friendship warm as Phoebus, kind as love,

And strong as Hercules."

On these lines, which their author wisely suppressed, Mr. Walpole has offered a very just criticism. See his Anecdotes, &c. vol. iii. p. 112.

Ver. 132. joyous Ford is there,] Charles Ford, Esq. was by Swift's interest appointed Gazetteer. See the Dean's Letter to Mrs. Dingley, dated July 1, 1712.

Ver. 139. with dust besprent?] So in the Dunciad, b. iii. p. 185. "But who is he in closet close ypent

Of sober face, with learned dust besprent?

Humphrey Wanley was librarian to Lord Oxford.

Of ancients only hath Lord Harley care;

But hither me hath my meeke lady sent:In manuscript of Greeke rede we thilke same, But book yprint best plesyth my gude dame."


Yonder I see, among th' expecting crowd,


Evans with laugh jocose, and tragic Young; High-buskin'd Booth, grave Mawbert, wand'ring Frowd,

And Titcomb's belly waddles slow along.
See Digby faints at Southern talking loud,

Yea, Steele and Tickell mingle in the throng;
Tickell whose skiff (in partnership they say)
Set forth for Greece, but founder'd in the





Lo the two Doncastles in Berkshire known!
Lo Bickford, Fortescue of Devon land!
Lo Tooker, Eckershall, Sykes, Rawlinson!
See hearty Morley takes thee by the hand!
Ayrs, Graham, Buckridge, joy thy voyage done;
But who can count the leaves, the stars, the sand?


Ver. 149. slow along.] The names of the majority of persons here enumerated, are in want of no illustration; and concerning a few of them, it would be difficult to supply any. Titcomb, however, is mentioned in a letter from Pope to Congreve. "There is a grand revolution at Will's, Morrice has quitted for a coffee-house in the city, and Titcomb is restored to the great joy of Cromwell, who was at a loss for a person to converse with on the fathers, and church history."

Lo Stonor, Fenton, Caldwell, Ward, and Broome! Lo thousands more, but I want rhyme and room!


How lov'd! how honour'd thou! yet be not vain!
And sure thou art not, for I hear thee say,
All this, my friends, I owe to Homer's strain,
On whose strong pinions I exalt my lay.
What from contending cities did he gain;


And what rewards his grateful country pay? None, none were paid-why then all this for me? These honours, Homer, had been just to thee.


In the Name of MRS. BUTTER'S Spirit, lately

STRIPT to the naked soul, escap'd from clay,
From doubts unfetter'd, and dissolv'd in day;
Unwarm'd by vanity, unreach'd by strife,

And all my hopes and fears thrown off with life;
Why am I charm'd by friendship's fond essays,
And though unbody'd, conscious of thy praise?
Has pride a portion in the parted soul?
Does passion still the firmless mind control!
Can gratitude out-pant the silent breath!

Or a friend's sorrow pierce the gloom of death!
No-'tis a spirit's nobler task of bliss;
That feels the worth it left, in proofs like this
That not its own applause, but thine approves,
Whose practice praises, and whose virtue loves;
Who liv'st to crown departed friends with fame;
Then dying, late, shalt all thou gavʼst reclaim.


Ver. 8. firmless] A new-coined, and not a very happy epithet.



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